Body Parts
by Group of Angels
Summary: Sherlock is a mess after John leaves and gets married. How will he manage to survive with John being gone?
1. Chapter 1

**_My heart was talking to my head_**

**_said "I've loved one. I'll never love again."_**

**_And my head at this replied,_**

**"****_I'll miss him, too. He was easy on the eyes."_**

**'****Gosh... I miss him,' Sherlock thought as he skulked around his flat. "Stupid John, with his stupid blog and his stupid eyes..." His own eyes were filling with tears. "Stupid brain with your stupid emotions,"**

**The counter on John's blog had been slowly rising, due to his new posts about his "domestic relationship with my new beloved wife, Mary."**

**"****Sherlock? What's gotten into you? You've used 4 whole boxes of tissues," Mrs. Hudson paused. picking up some mugs and some crumpled tissues. "and you haven't worked a case since J-" Sherlock let out a tiny sob. "Oh, there, there. You'll be alright." She rubbed Sherlock's back, trying to calm him.**

**He let out a choked breath, burying his head in a pillow. "I miss him, Mrs. Hudson... I miss everything about him," Tears soaked the pillow.**

**"****I know, dear. He'll visit, Sherlock. No one can stay away from you for too long." She kept rubbing his back.**

**"****But he'll bring ****_her_****along." He turned to Mrs. Hudson, puffy-eyed, runny-nosed. "They're 'married'..." He shoved his face back into the pillow, sobbing freely.**

**Neither of them talked for a while. The only thing neighbors heard from 221B Baker Street that night were Sherlock's loud sobs and screams.**


	2. Chapter 2

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* * *

"Now, what are you, the Sherlock Holmes, doing home on a perfectly good day to be solving crimes?" Lestrade was pacing near the front of Sherlock's flat, hands in his front pockets and his shoes squeaking on the newly polished floor - thanks to Mrs. Hudson, of course.

"Nothing. I'm dead. I can't focus on anything, Detective. Whenever I try a new case, he pops up. He always helped me with them. He was the smart one. I just pushed the pieces together." Sherlock groaned and turned towards to wall while still on the couch. He hadn't changed out of his robe and pajama pants for a whole week. He only wore those things. Never even bothered to shower, either.

"You have to get up some time. Come on. Let's just go downstairs and get some nicotine in to you." Lestrade stepped closer to the couch where Sherlock was laying down. He scrunched up his nose and made a waving motion in front of his nose and mouth. "You reek."

"I know. And I have nicotine." Sherlock thrusted one of his arms out into the middle of the room. On it were four or five nicotine patches. "There's six on the other arm, too." He pulls the arm back and curls up.

"Jesus, Sherlock. We need to get you into the shower, ASAP." Lestrade picked Sherlock up off the couch and dragged him to the shower. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which do you choose?"

"Easy, I guess..." Sherlock groaned again, taking his robe off. "Turn

around." Lestrade turned around so Sherlock could undress and hop into the shower.

"I will be right outside, if you need anything, okay Sherlock?"

"Okay."

Lestrade stepped out and closed the door so it was only open a jar.

"He's in too deep, Mrs. Hudson." He sighed and slipped his hands back into his pockets. "I don't think he's able to be saved."

"Well, no one is ever in too deep, if you catch my drift." Mrs. Hudson winked at the detective, smiling devilishly. Lestrade chuckled and shook his head. "Anyways, I've found someone to see him, professionally."

"You mean, like a therapist?"

"Precisely." She smiles. "I made him an appointment for later this week. Let me go put on some tea." Mrs. Hudson wanders off to the kitchen and puts some water in the kettle.

"Lestrade! Can you get me a towel?" Sherlock shouts from the bathroom.

"Sure thing!" Lestrade gets a towel and sticks it through the crack in the door.

"Thanks." Sherlock towels off and walks into the public space with the towel around his waist. He walks to his chair and sits down, sighing. "I have to thank you, Lestrade. I'm feeling much better."

Lestrade nods. "Mrs. Hudson got you an appointment with a therapist later on this week. She thinks it'll help you. So does your mum and dad."

Sherlock growls and rolls his eyes. "Oh god no. I'm not going to any therapist. I'm just-" He lets out a deep breath. "fine. Okay? I'm all good. Understand?" He turns to the kitchen, shouting to Mrs. Hudson. "Cancel the god damn appointment, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Now, Sherlock." She walks in, carrying a tray piled with tea sandwiches, cups, milk, sugar, and a teapot. "Have some tea and let's talk about this."

** "No. I'm not going." Sherlock folded his arms and pouted like a child.  
**


End file.
